Inseparable
by Signusorion
Summary: Maha's not prepared for centuries of loneliness. Hints of Maha/Aran.


**I recently restarted this game. And I really liked Maha in the past so.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Maplestory or its characters.**

* * *

She tells him in a voice unlike her in its hesitance, and yet the determination in her eyes can't be mistaken, that she is going to join the fight against the Black Mage. Maha blinks at this, confused as to why she is telling him. It's not as if her decision is a surprise to him; she's a righteous woman, with a good deal of strength to back her ideals up and a pretty powerful weapon to help her do so.

"You do not have to accompany me."

He blinks some more, can't imagine Aran going anywhere without him by her side.

"Ha!" he exclaims. "Says the one who begged my creator to make me."

At this, Aran smiles one of her small smiles, but her grip tightens around his handle. "Maha, I'm warning you. You should be prepared for whatever he might do to us. He's more powerful than all the other enemies we've faced."

"I'm prepared. As long as I'm with you."

Yes, even if the Black Mage, furious at the defiance of the heroes, decides to snap him in two with his own hands, Maha doesn't give a damn. He's the best weapon in the world, and she's the only suitable master for him. He would never let himself be used by another, and he's sure that if he doesn't follow her into what may be her last battlefield, he'll regret it forever. He's prepared for anything.

Except being locked for centuries in the ice of Rien, all alone, with no one to see him, no one to speak to him.

The first few decades or so aren't as bad. Freud, that overly intelligent dragon mage he had never particularly liked for all of his self-assured intelligence, was left behind just like he was. He visits him sometimes. Without Aran to act as a translator though, their conversations are one-sided on both ends. Nevertheless, Freud continues to make the journey to Rien to stand in front of Maha and speak of the things no one else will truly appreciate. He speaks of how his life has been going, speaks of establishing a new town in Ellin Forest, speaks of how well the world has been recovering. He speaks of everything except the people who are lost to them (In Maha's case, temporarily).

Only once does Freud talk of the heroes, and he does so in his old age with tears in his wrinkly eyes and a wistful smile on his wizened face.  
"I only wish," he says. "That I could have grown old with them. But I suppose the future world has greater need for them than I do."

And then he never comes again. Maha's torn between rejoicing and mourning. Freud lived longer than he had expected, but seeing the mage age with every visit was unnerving. But then again, he was only human. His passing means the loss of what little companionship he could hope for.

Ever since the day he was created, he's never gone wanting for company. First his creator, so proud of the finest piece of craftsmanship he had ever created, babbled to him endlessly, filling him with praise and adding to his ego. Then finally Aran, stoic but kind Aran.

She was the silent type, but she was his constant. She liked telling him the story of how she had him made specially for her, and he liked the tenderness in her voice whenever she told that particular story. It always let him know that he was wanted, even if she did neglect cleaning the blood off him sometimes.

The irony was that she had spoken more words to him than she ever had to any human she had ever known. Even in her sleep, she murmured the occasional nonsensical sentence. He couldn't imagine that she had ever gone without him, but he had always dreaded being without her.

It wasn't that he had never thought of this scenario before. Before the final battle, he spent his free time postulating on what he would do if she died in battle. Back then, the answer was obvious: end his own existence. Back then, the answer was enough for him and he patted himself on the back for being so loyal.

But now, it's different. She's still alive; he can feel her presence, but it's weak like a campfire in the middle of a winter storm. As the days grow longer and emptier, he takes comfort in that faint energy he can feel. If one day he can float by her side instead of above the talking penguins of Rien, he'll wait as long as it takes.

His patience wears thin. He passes the days by watching the stagnant skies of Rien and eavesdropping on the penguins going about their daily business. There's a lack of humans in Rien besides that one family of blue-haired people, and as Maha rolls over onto his side to glare at the penguin who just smacked him with a fishy-smelling flipper, he supposes it might be a good thing. Might be, he thinks as the penguin cackles in a nasally tone to his friend. Humans do a much better job cleaning him at least. However, the sight of humans would just drive Maha crazy. He doesn't want to see one who looks anything like Aran, and thankfully, the Rien clan thins out over time until there's only one girl left. Her name is Lilin and she solemnly watches the last of her family leave Rien. Abandoned just like he was.

She's strangely intuitive too. When Maha's in a bad mood, she keeps the penguins away from him. When he feels disgusted by the snow melting on his blade, she's there with a washcloth to clean him up. When he hovers over her shoulder and brags about all his past exploits, she turns and stares at the space where he is. Though she can't see him, it's the closest thing to companionship since Freud passed away.

Then one day, he spots Aran, looking incredibly disheveled and slightly chilly in her wet clothes, among the crowd of penguins. Her hand rubbing her elbow, her mouth twisted down in a confused frown, her hair tied up in a rather messy ponytail, she's so familiar it pains him to see her.

But she's finally back. Finally back! He's so excited he's floating more erratically than usual, but he keeps himself back, keeps himself cool. His pride hasn't left him yet, after all. He'll simply wait for her to come to him and beg for forgiveness for leaving him alone for so long.

For now, he contents himself with watching her exchange with Lilin and wills the jealousy to go away by stomping his foot on the bamboo platform when the blue-haired girl hands his master a puny-looking polearm. Aran looks up at the shaking platform, a quizzical expression on her tired face as she squints up at him. For a moment there, Maha thinks she's going to request to have him broken out of the ice so she can use a _proper weapon_ like she deserves.

Instead, she turns back to Lilin, nods once, and walks away.

...

The resentment builds up inside him, a hot burning feeling that wells up in his limbs and makes him want to shake the ground to get her attention. It soon turns to anxiety as he asks himself why she turned away. Is she angry? Does she hate him? Does she blame him for being too weak, for letting her get stuck in ice for so long and not breaking her out sooner?

No, she's not unreasonable.

Is she?

Maha can't seem to recall exactly what Aran was like in the past. All he remembers is that she was great, hardworking, someone he wanted to always be with.

He thinks on it for days until he almost doesn't notice Aran clambering up the bamboo ladder leading to him. She drags that weak polearm with her, and he notices that she has a bit of trouble lugging that lightweight around. Oh, of course being stuck in ice would weaken her muscles a bit. Maybe she looked away to keep back the misery of not being strong enough to wield him immediately?

Her weapon falls to the platform with a soft thud, and she stretches her arms, staring down at them with a scowl. Maha watches, holding his breath as she walks over to his blade. The familiar touch of her hand on him makes him choke up for some reason, and he turns away to hide his reddening face.

"I'm not crying or anything, Aran! It's just allergies. I'm allergic to pengui-" His voice trails off mid-joke when her eyes trail off to the side to look at him. For a moment of elated joy, he can't help but grin because it's everything he's been hoping and wishing for these past few centuries. And then he notices the vacant look in her eyes.

She's not looking at him. She's not looking at anything. She's thinking to herself.

The grin freezes on his lips; Aran turns around and looks down to Lilin, calling out to her, "Lilin! Why is this polearm stuck in the ice?"

This pole arm.

_This polearm._

_This polearm, this polearm, this polearm._

Never before has he been so hurt by simply two words from her mouth. He barely registers Lilin's reply of "It's your polearm, Maha. He was frozen just like you were."

Maha lies down on the bamboo platform, feeling emptier than he had before Aran's return. She's lost her strength, her memories, everything that made her who she was. Worst of all, she's lost the ability to see him.

She's nothing but a stranger without her memories. He doesn't even care when she picks that disgrace of a polearm up and climbs back down.

* * *

A battered but more confident Aran comes back to see him months later, her eyes wide when she catches sight of his glowering face and his crossed arms.

"What kind of owner are you?" he mutters under his breath, turning away. He's determined not to accept any of her apologies, even if she grovels on her knees and sings his praises. She'll never know his centuries of solitude, but at the very least, he'll let her know his dejection.

She tilts her head to the side, a white lock of hair falling into one of her eyes. A wry smile spreads across her face as she looks him up and down.

"Maha," she breathes, and the quality of her voice isn't the same as it once was. It's lost the affectionate touch, their history together, but it still makes his heart ache in an infuriating way.

"Go away," he growls, refusing to budge. "Unless you remember me, go away." She's a mockery of his memories, as blurred as they've become, and he can't stand to see her any longer.

She leaves without another word, and it stings how she doesn't protest against it.

She comes back soon though, but he's ready to kick up a fuss and chase her away again.

His stubbornness drains away when she speaks his name again and fondly tells the story of how she begged and begged the blacksmith to make him for her.

She finishes her story with a soft "Forgive me, Maha. One day, I'll become strong enough for you once more."

And that, he supposes, is good enough for him.

"Better sooner than later, Aran!" he proclaims. "I can only wait so long."

It's a promise to return to those days filled with her, to never separate again.

* * *

**I hope I characterized Maha properly, and didn't make him too snobby.**


End file.
